Avoiding the Detective
by MissJuliaBelle
Summary: John is a borrower living contently on the walls of 221A. However, when a certain swaggering bean moves into the flat above, will John be able to stay hidden away? Or will he become a new experiment? Ratings and tags may change! (Reads more like a book than a fanfiction!) (February hiatus)
1. Chapter 1

Of course, John had picked the one place that was sure to get him in trouble. Being a borrower, John wasn't very large to begin with; coupled with the fact the he was even slightly short for borrower standards, he came up to about five inches. Everything was far too large for him to use or get around without some amount of effort. The world was not made for borrowers, since it was not made_ by_ borrowers. Human beans built just about everything, and since they were the bigger people, they thought they owned the world. Of course borrowers were the real superior people, but the beans were much larger and brutish. So of course, the borrowers did what any perceived weaker species would do: they stayed hidden.

He had been living in the walls of 221A for almost seven years when a certain haughty bean strolled his way into one of the flats above. John had caught a glimpse of him the day he moved his things upstairs. Just the flapping of a long coat, and dark hair. At first, this had been wonderful; Mrs. Hudson was often checking up on this new bean, and when he was gone she would often leave to go "clean" his flat. This left her part of 221 open for borrowing, and John had to go out less and less since he could fill his pantry so frequently. It had been a fantastic setup.

However, the longer this bean stayed, the more worried John became. He learned about some of the strange habits this new tenant had, such as going for days without sleeping, fretting John's bean over how little he ate, being rather rude to just about everyone, and altogether making quite a nuisance of himself. Of course he couldn't have been normal, oh no, this one was a detective. John could hear the conversations that happened upstairs when he listened through the floor boards with ease. Apparently this human bean prized his mind above all else, and prided himself in his deductions. It was fascinating really, it seemed he could tell your life story by studying the scuff marks on your shoes. It was also terrifying for a borrower, even if he wasn't living on the same floor.

This bean was a scientist as well. Just the icing on the cake. Borrowers never showed themselves to beans mainly due to the fear of being squashed, but this one... He would probably keep John _alive_. Experiment on him, expose the borrower kind, maybe even sell him to a laboratory for quite a sum.

John had many a restless night, pondering whether or not he should pack up and leave. This bean was obviously a huge risk, a disaster waiting to happen. But then again, John hadn't felt quite the same since the new addition to the settlement. Everything seemed a little more exciting, a little more risky. John hadn't felt this much exhilaration since moving from his old borrowing house. Yes, it had been dangerous. Yes, he'd been afraid at times. Yes, he had even been seriously hurt; he had the scars to prove his bravery. But things hadn't been the same living alone, going from his family in the large house to living with an older bean and her boring routine.

This new, tall, young bean had put a little zest even in the smallest of tasks. His energy when he had a case was contagious, even when you couldn't see him. His brisk pacing when he was thinking put you just as on edge as he was. His baritone shouting had reverberated in John's chest on a couple rare occasions, and sent chills down his spine. It was quite terrifying. Whenever John was forced to cover his ears from the noise, he was reminded of just how small he really was. And then there was his violin. Oh the violin; the extension of the bean's very existence. Normally, when there were others in the flat, it was very controlled; even then you could feel the music carry just a little bit of the player's feeling in its tones. But when Mrs Hudson was gone, and the bean thought he was alone, the music seemed to spring to life. John could practically see the violin and the player become one beautiful machine; putting his very soul into the strings, playing his sorrows, his merriment, his boredom. It was a beautiful, haunting thing.

Maybe, John would hope to himself. Maybe he could stay. Perhaps this man would never come to 221A. He seemed perfectly content, if not understimulated, in his part of the building. Certainly, if Mrs Hudson wished to see him, she could go upstairs and talk at him for a bit.

Then, of course, the inevitable happened. The new bean had come into Mrs. Hudson's flat for conversation. Not for his own sake of course, or even of his own intent. He probably would have preferred to avoid it since he apparently had a habit of going for days without speaking or even stirring for that matter. One of Mrs. Hudson's light bulbs had gone out and she asked the man to help her replace it, as her bad hip made it hard for her to get on a ladder or stool. Fortunately, the sound travelled fairly easily to John, and he had been able to prepare. When he had put it off 'due to a case,' she nagged him for days until he finally could be bothered to walk down the stairs to her home.

John debated with himself over and over again. Did he dare risk trying to catch another glimpse of the detective? He had been a thorn in his side for a while now, and it would be interesting to see the cause of all this grief. At the same time, it was tricky. There was a crack in the corner of one of the kitchen walls, it would be easy to watch. But then again, the bean was sharp, and that particular spot was about eye-level to the giant. If he looked just the right way, saw the tear, and suspected anything John wouldn't be able to get away fast enough-

Wait a tick, he hadn't even seen the bean in action yet. The probability of that scenario was practically non-existent. Maybe the bean was just full of hot air. It was perfectly logical to think that Mrs. Hudson overestimated him. It was obvious she treated him slightly more like her own son that a tenant. She was lonely and needed someone to be attached to; perfectly normal if she held him in higher regards than his abilities fit into... Yes, John was going to observe the bean, and see if he was really all that dangerous.

John positioned himself in the wall. It was rather high up, but John preferred seeing everything from a beans point of view; it made him feel... Like an equal. It gave him a better view of everything as well. He made himself comfortable and waited for the entertainment.

Within two minutes the bean had noticed a few strange things even with John's careful planning. The troublesome bulb in question was in the kitchen near some cupboards that John usually borrowed from. The massive person had come in determined, and had pretty much kept his back to John the entire time. All John could really see was his full head of hair, and that he was wearing a blue dressing gown. Apparently, sitting bored at home meant you didn't need to dress in the morning... interesting. Mrs. Hudson was prattling on about her nieces that had come to visit a week ago, how Sherlock should have seen them, and more nonsense that John couldn't help but smirk at.

However, when the bean squinted at the cupboards, John's smile quickly fell flat. Descending the ladder, the colossal being swung open a cupboard door. He inspected the outside and the very edge, no doubt seeing the tiny dents left by John's borrowing tools. He then started rifling through a bit of the cupboards contents, which John couldn't quite see, but served to heighten the tension in the giant's shoulder. His intense glaring at such a seemingly innocuous thing prompted Mrs. Hudson to stop mid-sentence. "Oh, and they absolutely loved the- Sherlock, what's gotten into you?"

The bean froze and didn't respond. John's mouth went dry. _No no oh, please don't._

The detective turned swiftly as his eyes flitted around the kitchen. John had just enough time to see his face before he pulled back for fear of being Seen. John swallowed hard; he couldn't help it if his heart leaped into his throat, now could he? He definitely looked intense enough; as if his seemingly multi-colored eyes and prominent cheekbones weren't enough he was rather pale and it contrasted starkly with his dark hair. Altogether, he cut a rather intelligent, imposing image.

John tried to listen hard but the pounding in his ears drowned out anything else. The silence was just long enough for John to question whether the paper before him would be suddenly torn open to reveal him when the deep baritone voice broke the intensity.

"Mrs. Hudson, it appears you may have rats."


	2. Chapter 2: Rats!

_NOOOOOO YOU BLOODY IDIOT._ John was relieved for only a millisecond when his mind processed what the bean had actually said. John scurried away as silently as possible to where his 'house' was situated in Mrs. Hudson's wall separating the hall from the bathroom.

During one of his debates with himself when the bean had first moved in John had packed a bag of his absolute basic essentials intending to leave on the spot. Of course he had decided against it and unpacked it again, but he had borrowed a sticky note to list those essentials in case things ever got tricky.

See, if Sherlock had thought there were rats in Mrs. Hudson's flat, the two beans would be paying special attention to little things. Food that was easily borrowed before without incident was suddenly missed very much. Holes were searched for and plugged up, others were rigged to trap. Small, normally indecipherable creaks, even if it was just the house settling, were suddenly cause to run for a broom. In short, John couldn't stay.

Why had the detective even come to that conclusion? Of all things, rats were the worst things imaginable for borrowers. Well, of course, besides being Seen. Whenever rats invaded a home they were very hostile to borrowers. Being a bit of a hunter himself, John understood the primal instinct to get rid of the competition, but oftentimes when food was scarce the rats may actually _seek out_ his kind as an alternative food source. Then there was the nasty business of cleaning up after...

But for John, rats hit a nerve. That nerve being in his shoulder.

«~oO^Oo~»

John lived in the same house as his parents until he was twenty two. The house was inhabited by a well-to-do family of beans, but it was only the parents and the youngest bean who attended college left in the establishment. This meant plenty of empty rooms and other borrowing families. Which was turning out to be quite an annoyance to John Watson.

John had grown up behind the Watson Petroleum boiler (hence the unusual last name) along with his parents and sister. At that time, the bean children were still young, inquisitive little things. They always added a bit of tenseness to John's daily existence. From learning the basic rules of borrower existence to borrowing itself, there was always a bit of adrenaline to be had. Now that they'd all grew up, as kids tend to do, they lost that spark of youthful curiosity and wonder at the little things in life. They'd become boring and very nearly _easy_ to borrow from. John decided he was far too young to already be this lazy. No, he'd wanted more spunk. When striking across the house to live on his own hadn't been enough, he'd had even taken to boldly reading the college beans textbooks and studying to keep his mind off of the hum-drum everyday life. Not that he'd even been Seen, mind you, but going out onto an open desk with very little cover just to learn about being a doctor was considered taboo to many older borrowers.

The time had finally come for young John to spread his wings. Though John had grown comfortable, he decided it was time for a new place. He eventually brought up the subject to his parents, who tried to stay as neutral as possible. Of course, Harry hadn't seen why he should leave; there were so many nice borrower girls here to settle down with, the borrowings were good, and he was within a well-established community. This was what every borrower dreamed to achieve, wasn't it?

He hadn't expected her to understand though. John didn't just want to be comfortable. It was too boring. Everything about a normal borrower life seemed dull and uninteresting to John.

During his nomadic phase after moving from his family's home, he had spent part of his travels in the sewers. Many of the beans that actually went down their were either drunk out of their minds, too high to notice, or to busy going about their maintenance work to be bothered with the scurrying around the floors. Eventually meeting with a community of outtie borrowers, John had agreed to help them get rid of some particularly carnivorous rodents. It'd been absolutely awful.

He'd stayed there for a couple of years, helping the hidden city purge itself of the rats, down to the defenseless pups in their nests. Of course, he'd made a few close-knit friends, as soldiers do, and watched some get torn apart right before his eyes. Technically, the only 'safe' haven was in the center of the city and only the weaker, injured, or inexperienced borrowers were allowed to stay there. Even there rats had been known to break through the defenses once in a blue moon, causing bloodshed and panic in their wake. John had learned to sleep lightly, not that the nightmares didn't keep him up most nights as it was.

John had only done light bandage work at first, keeping mainly engaged in battle, but still witnessed many of his brave comrades fall to the bloody teeth and claws. He had nearly suffered the same fate. It was horrifying. He had been patching up an acquaintance's leg when something brushed against his own leg. He'd turned quickly with a makeshift glass blade when the rat behind him bit deep in his shoulder. He'd shouted in pain, and his vision instantly blurred. John had managed to dig his jagged shard into the rats face and hold it for a moment, but his strength waned quickly and with a flick of its neck the rat had managed to dislodge the weapon and nearly knocked out John. It then had dragged a limp John a distance away. He couldn't do a damn thing.

His moans of anguish had fortunately caught the attention of some of the other 'warriors' though, and they brought him to the center of the city. John was in and out of comas and bedridden for nearly a month, and had probably put a significant dent in the supply of antibiotics the outties had managed to borrow. A large scar had formed after the incident, and it reminded him of what danger he could get into nearly every day. John would have nightmares for years to come, and what beans called 'Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.'

During the healing period he developed a seemingly random limp, which rendered him nearly useless to the fighting side of the cause. His focus then turned to being a doctor for a short while, using techniques that he had learned from his old home. It proved itself a worthy hobby though, as John quickly became a great medic, even in non-emergencies. Of course, he kept mum about just _how_ he had come across this vast wealth of medical information, but he passed on the knowledge that he could. Thankfully, borrowers were anatomically similar, if not identical copies of, human bean bodies. John had no basis for comparison though, as none of the city borrowers were as medically aware as John and any bodies he'd managed to get permission to dissect were not exactly _adequate_ or _whole_.

After clearing out the rats, the city of borrowers had asked him to stay, but he felt he couldn't settle there where he had seen so much death. They kindly pointed out a flat with an old woman, easy borrowing, gave him some food and sent him along to his current home. John had rigged up lots of makeshift elevators, stairs, and such conveniences to help with his limp and settled in. The pains when using his leg were ignored out of habit and he became a better borrower than even his father.

«~oO^Oo~»

Come to think of it, he hadn't been limping very much at all lately...

Anyhow, he was sure the borrower city would gladly take back a doctor; someone was always sick, and without access to medication and information like the beans had, even a cold could end badly.

But oh, he desperately wished he could stay.

John had been there almost a total of eight years now, he had grown attached to the place. Mrs. Hudson's trivialities, Sherlock's excitability, the warm comfort of the beams and drywall he had come to know and love. All of it suddenly ripped away because Sherlock Holmes was wrong. Well, not that he should have come to the obvious conclusion that there was a tiny person living in Mrs. Hudson's walls; no, that would have been awful. But John would leave for maybe a month or two, and hopefully this whole thing would blow over.

But wait, he couldn't just leave without some sign of the rats still being around. Surely rats wouldn't just up and leave when a bean found signs of them in a house. But what to do? He couldn't _stay_ and let the humans catch him, but he couldn't leave and rouse Sherlock's suspicions.

So there had to be some kind of compromise... John sat down at his kitchen 'table' for a moment. He looked around at his makeshift furniture. He had successfully tapped the water supply when he first moved in, but he had to heat his water himself. He had worked hard to make this, and he had come to know and love the place... And now it was as good as gone.

_Damn it, Sherlock..._

But wait, he didn't just need to keep up the ruse of rats in the house... If they didn't catch any they'd just call an exterminator, or bomb the place. He needed bodies. Well, rats really, since Sherlock would certainly know if the rat was dead before it was in a trap or before gas got to it.

The little gears suddenly clicked in John's mind, and as soon as the teeth meshed they spun a mile-a-minute...

John had a plan.

And with the holidays just around the corner, the beans wouldn't want to have traps out where their guests could see them... Oh, what a wonderful Christmas miracle, John could stay!


	3. Chapter 3: A New Year

John covered his eyes from the light, overly sensitive to the bright rays hitting his retinae. His head pounded and he felt a bit off balance, not a good combination for someone who was planning to borrow food. Standing at the hole in the wall, peeking out, he noted the messiness of Mrs Hudson's sitting room. Normally her house was fairly spotless, but she had been busy tidying up Sherlock's flat so company could be entertained there. Not to mention clients. John could barely walk in a straight line though, much less safely borrow anything, so he walked to the edge of his bed, sat down and massaged his temples. He tried to remember just what had caused such a freak head-pounding. It was all a bit of a haze, but he began to recall the night previous...

«~oO^Oo~»

New Year's Eve. The night where many things could be gotten away with. Beans nearly always celebrated the occasion with alcohol, and so it was fairly easy to sneak around once half of them were passed out and the remaining too blasted to care. Oh yes, this was going to be wonderful.

John had been planning this for just over a week. Mrs. Hudson would be out of her flat for a rather long time, leaving John to his devices. He would borrow the supplies necessary and get out quickly, just in case. He could get his weekly supplies in the morning while the beans were complaining of headaches and being overall lethargic.

_I'm gunna need some extra string as well for tonight's project. _ John quickly added to his growing list of things he was going to borrow. He was beginning to feel the light tug of worry at the back of his mind, but he pushed it away before it could take root. Everything was fool proof. The party upstairs might get a bit rowdy so any noise he made would be covered, and Mrs. Hudson would definitely be up for the whole celebration with a glass of sherry and a smile lighting her face. He would do what needed doing, and then he could stay at 221A for a while longer... That is, as long as the plan held out and Sherlock kept his big nose out of it.

John made his way through the walls to watch his bean's movements. He peeked through the same hole that had revealed his detective nearly a week ago. Fortunately he had correctly predicted that they wouldn't set traps until after the seasonal festivities, but they had already begun finding and sealing some of his passages in and out of the beans walls. This was one of the places they still hadn't come across. Yes, _they. _ Sherlock had taken an interest in the rat infestation as he could use them for experiments. Of course he could always just make a few calls and get some lab rats with little trouble, but he had mentioned something about wanting 'impure, natural subjects' for certain tests. Not to mention watching the habits of rats in their 'normal' conditions to compare with crime scene houses, the infestation process, and any more information he could get his hands on. He had even set up a hidden camera at a hole that John had used a lot, probably to catch the rats in the act of scurrying about their business.

Mrs. Hudson, however, was not amused, as she was used to having company over and baking constantly. Her house was always fairly spotless, but lately she had been cleaning furiously after everything she did, leaving 221A immaculate. John was a bit disappointed by that, as he enjoyed a crumb of her pastries every now and again while borrowing. Not to mention, he had to be extremely conscious of his footprints, any dust from the walls that had latched onto his jacket or in his hair, and the position of the boxes, bags, and other things he borrowed from so he could replace them perfectly. Honestly, it was only going to get worse for a while, and John was perfectly aware of the fact. But in order to stay, this was probably the best plan John could conjure.

And if he was lucky, he himself wouldn't ever come across any rats. But if he did, he was prepared. He had searched throughout the sitting room and Mrs. Hudson's room, looking for anything sharp; missing safety pins, lost earrings, broken hair clips, sharpened to clamp down and stab; he had even found a nail clipper. He broke out the file and whetted it against the walls every chance he got while the beans were away, rewarding him with a rather formidable blade. He was ready for whatever lay ahead for him this evening.

Mrs. Hudson was checking some of her baking, and John quadruple checked his pack of supplies. The nail file, a pack of dental floss with a screw-in hook tied to the end, cloth to wrap around his shoes just in case he needed the extra assurance of silence, a rubber band for gripping, tiny jars for food, his list of things he needed to find for his plan or improvise around, and plenty of room in his pack for the things he was about to borrow. He was going to be exhausted by the time his plan was executed. He should have borrowed yesterday... _Ah well, can't be helped now. I'll get up early tomorrow morning is all. I'll have to watch and make sure the beans'll be out in the morning too I suppose. Bugger._

John waited patiently as Mrs. Hudson made several trips back and forth from her kitchen to 221b with baked goods and such. Finally Sherlock came the last couple of trips and actually _smiled_ good-naturedly at his elder. It was only for a moment, but it was warm and genuine. John didn't think his lips could curl that way... Weren't they in a permanent pouty line? Despite that, the beans face quickly fell back to its usual controlled demeanor. John quickly snapped back to attention as well, now seeing they only had about one more trip to make, and would probably stay upstairs to set up for company.

John heard from conversations that had passed between beans (mostly spoke by Mrs. Hudson, naturally) that the elderly woman would try not to traverse the stairs if she could help it tonight. Her hip had been acting up with the cold weather and tended to stiffen up a bit, so Sherlock would be the one to answer the door when guests arrived.

John had decided to wait until after the first wave of guests were greeted so he could be certain the party would keep the beans upstairs. This took a good twenty minutes, and by then John had walked to a different entrance, gotten cold feet thrice and had talked himself back into it as many times. He had moved to an electrical socket that Mrs. Hudson had never thought to remove or pay someone to properly hook up, where he had loosened the screws; checking his list one last time, John thought through the most likely places to find such objects:

Must Have:

Coin or other Wedge

Battering Ram _gotten_

Sugary something or other

Gate Materials:

-chicken wire

-paper clips

-sturdy rods

-lock or other kid of latch

-wooden boards _gotten_

Rope

He took a steadying breath and stuffed the list back in his bag. _This is your idea John, if you don't do it you need to move. You don't want to move John. You need to do this._

Listening one last time, he waited for any signs of beans tromping down the stairs. Once he double and triple checked he removed three of the screws in front of his and waited after each hit the floor to see if anyone noticed the sounds. Finally he slowly pushed the panel aside, glancing cautiously outside for any signs of movement. He jumped the few inches to the ground and kept to the wall. No need to venture into a room until necessary.

John made his way toward a broom closet where the gardening supplies were kept. Hopefully he could find something useful in there, but there was a problem.

The door was closed.

Closed doors are something of an annoyance to borrowers, and John was no exception. Fortunately though, this particular closet had a lever style handle so it mas much easier to manipulate. He took off his dental floss backpack and tried to judge the distance between himself and the knob. Unwinding a length of the floss he swung it expertly to the handle, and the hook caught on with a satisfying _clink_.

_ So far so good._ John walked directly underneath, winding most of the slack back into his pack. With a grunt he used nearly all his body weight to pull the floss down and away from the doorframe. It took a couple goes, but after the fourth try John managed to open the door up a crack. Deftly flicking his wrist, he watched as the hook hit the floor with a _plink_. He gathered up the makeshift rope and pushed the door open with his good shoulder.

He managed to find a roll of chicken wire, but had a bit of trouble getting it cut. Just unwinding the roll was quite a workout, but he soon found his makeshift machete wouldn't do the job of cutting through. John looked for quite a bit before finding wire cutters, and even with the tool, it took a lot of effort to clip off the amount of material he needed. He pushed the curled metal to the floor along with the oversized tool. Searching a bit he eventually stumbled across some nails, which would work quite well at gate posts.

Once he measured and cut enough for a small door he gathered what he had near the door and lugged the wire cutters back to their spot on the shelf. He took his metal parts and put them behind the socket. The rest of the list proved much easier to find, however. He gathered as much as he could into his pack and brought them back to the hole when it was too full. A few beans arrived during his borrowing, but nothing to be worried about as he could be much quieter now that the loudest parts were done.

He was finally on the last item: bait. Since this could be gotten easier from a hole in the kitchen he took his other supplies and put them further in the walls closer to his home. Venturing through the tunnels again, John froze for a moment.

Upstairs was awfully quiet.

But that was quickly remedied when Sherlock began to play his violin. The bean played a rather upbeat sounding tune, and John couldn't say he'd ever heard it before. When had he practiced that? John figured if he was going to get something from the kitchen, he may as well get something for himself too. A bit of something sweet maybe. If he found another paperclip, all the better.

Pulling the section of wall he had cut through, he thought about what he could get as good bait. Probably peanut butter or something... He peeked out of the wallpaper that remained, hiding his hole. Finding nothing threatening he made his way onto the counter. The notes of the bouncy tune perked up John quite a bit as he ran across the 'L' shaped countertop and slowed under the cabinets where Sherlock had first identified the small scratches. Well, John was about to make a new one.

He tossed up his hook and line, the point catching a divot in the wood readily. He tugged twice just to be sure it was secure, then began climbing. Once he had a foothold against the frame, he pushed against it, wriggling through the opening before it could close on him. Once inside he pushed it open again to retrieve his hook; he didn't like to leave anything out in the open without supervision.

He meandered his way in the darkness looking for something suitable, but realized peanut butter _would_ probably be easiest. The pantry wasn't sectioned off, the doors just opened to different parts, which John was eternally thankful for. Still, he rummaged around, reading labels and wishing he could come up with blueprints for some sort of makeshift torch. At some point the violin had stopped during his search, and John instantly missed its sweet tones. Eventually he stumbled across some jam, one of his personal favorites. _Well, I'll be taking some of that then..._

He wrapped the band around the lid of the purple jar, awkwardly tugging and hugging the massive turntable. He grunted and sweated from the exertion, probably pulling a muscle in the process. When it came loose he stuck his hand in, scooping some and then scraping it off into one of his own jars. He had three, but he needed the other two for bait, so he reluctantly licked his fingers and returned the lid with only one jar of jam for himself.

Logically speaking, the peanut butter probably wouldn't be too far off, so he collected his rubber band and resumed his snooping. He hummed a bit of the tune Sherlock had been playing to himself, a tiny bit off-key, but hey, nobody was listening. He wandered into the wine cabinet and turned back, wondering how he could have missed an enormous jar of peanut butter. Sighing, he turned back around and began checking the jars again.

Thunderous footsteps sounded down the stairs and John wondered who might've arrived at this point; it was quite late in the evening. Bit not good to come this late to a party... It must've been nearing midnight by now. He then stopped his ferreting when a second pair of footfalls joined the first, and two voices started conversing. John ran through his mind quickly; Lestrade hadn't gone to meet any of the guests, and that was definitely the Detective Inspector's voice alright. He had heard it plenty of times when a case had come up. Wait a tick-

There hadn't been a doorbell ring.

_ What-_

He heard the two open Mrs Hudson's door and the snaking tendrils of doubt and fear he had kept at bay for this long shot out and clutched at his heart. He took a step back at the impact and listened closely for the reason of this invasion.

The house opened up directly to the kitchen and he could hear someone pacing hurriedly. _That'll be Sherlock then..._ The other was suspiciously quiet, probably watching the detective flit back and forth. They hadn't bothered to turn on the lights for whatever reason, but there were still shadows playing in the tiny gap underneath the cabinet door.

John's borrower senses were intense, and John was having trouble ignoring them: many borrowers have a sense that goes off when human beans come near as a defense mechanism. For many borrowers they must take long periods of time to develop the sense, but a lucky few sort of just acquire it with puberty. John's sense came when he was about fourteen, and manifested as a tingling sensation at the base of his skull and his wrists becoming a tad stiff.

"I can't." The booming voice took John off guard.

"Really Sherlock? Really? It's just Anderson. He's in the house now for Pete's sake, and you've yet to kill each other."

"That doesn't mean he'll _work_ with me, Lestrade. And the same goes for me to him. Unless you can get someone else on forensics, you're blind without me."

"Sherlock..."

"As they say Lestrade, it's me or the dog. You may take your pick."

"Sherlock!"

Then the door to the wines quickly flipped open and John was frozen to the spot. He didn't dare move.

An enormous hand reached through and John couldn't take his eyes off it. It swiftly rushed in and John thought he was going to die of a heart attack by the time it reached him. He clenched down, bracing for the impact.

None came.

John opened his eyes when he heard the sound of glass scraping. Sherlock was checking the wine labels! Oh god... He could see one of Sherlock's mesmerizing eyes from this angle and remained frozen to the spot. Best not to catch his attention. Maybe in the darkness...

The bean apparently found the correct vintage and he took it out, double checking the label.

"Sherlock, I need you on this case. Miriam can't come, she's off on vacation in the Americas."

"Very poor timing. I suggest you come up with another plan."

"If I let you go in first and keep Anderson away can you do it?"

"No good. I need an assistant."

"You're impossible, you know that?"

"Selective, not impossible Lestrade." With that Sherlock closed the cabinet, and it sounded like he handed the bottle to the other bean. "I should think Molly and Mrs. Hudson are waiting patiently for this, and if you take too long they'll suspect an argument; then you'll have an audience for your predicament."

John's legs turned to putty and he hid behind a sack of flour. Not for actual camouflage, but more for a feeling of safety. Oh, that was close. He sunk to a sitting position, the gravity of the situation hitting him like a ton of bricks. Lestrade huffed and John winced at the sound. One pair of shoes traveled up the staircase, but one stayed. _What are you doing?_

Suddenly the door rushed open again, though John couldn't see anything from behind the vastness against his back. He felt the rush of air though, and it chilled John to the bone instantly. _Don't move, don't breathe, don't even blink._ John's entire body tensed when he heard rustling of fabric and a light turned on.

_ Probably even the same damn bulb you fixed you-_ A massive shadow against the wall to his right interrupted John's thoughts... _Oh God, leave. Get out. No._

The shadow seemed to scan the entire length of the space, then he flung open the next door, then the next, until all five were opened up, light shining everywhere, and leaving John's heart pounding violently against his ribcage.

Silence prevailed for nearly two minutes. Light, tentative footsteps sounded down the stairs again, but neither man moved a muscle. John remained staring at the shadow, and the shadow in turn remained still. The door opened, and the tenseness continued, until a voice broke the silence.

"Sh-Sherlock? It's nearly midnight."

The shadow hadn't moved.

"What are you doing?" The voice was distinctly feminine, and after some more noises a new shadow, much smaller, joined the first. Not even that deterred the detective, and he continuously burned a hole through whatever he was staring at. "Sherlock, it's nearly midnight, you're going to miss the fieworks."

"As will you if you don't hurry along Molly." Sherlock's voice was flat and low, attempting at quiet but from John's point of view, failing miserably.

"Sherlock, you can't miss it again. Every year Sherlock; just once I think you should see them." John liked this Molly. He had heard _about_ her, but never heard her voice. It had taken on a warm tone, coaxing the detective to turn his head to the other silhouette.

After a long moment of the two facing each other the silence as broken by the larger bean.

"I'll be right up Molly. Give me a moment." His voice had also taken the warm inflection, causing miss Hooper to turn away slightly, obviously not meeting his eyes.

"Well, you said that last year..." Sherlock's shadow suddenly reached under Molly's chin and brought it up to meet his gaze.

"Promise."

There was another stretch of silence, and Molly quietly nodded. Sherlock's hand slowly came back down and Molly turned to leave. _No, no no! Stay! Make him go upstairs, wouldn't want him to weasel out of it! _ John's telepathic pleas didn't quite reach, and Molly closed the door behind her. John's borrower sense was driving him mad, and Sherlock hadn't budged from the spot.

The shadow shrunk a bit, indicating the detective leaning in.

"I know you're there. Even if you're not I know you've been here." John broke out in a cold sweat. He'd been Seen.

John had never been Seen before. And it was terrifying.

"I've dealt with your kind before, and I know you're here. I won't stand for you harassing Mrs. Hudson and myself much longer, so you should leave while you have the chance." John's heart sunk deep in his chest. He though Sherlock might understand his predicament. Maybe he would've let him stay or- "Rats aren't welcome here. You may be good for experimentation, but a rat is a rat. I will have you all cleared within a month's time or my name isn't Sherlock Holmes."

With that, the cabinets all were shut roughly and the light was turned off. "I'll even go so far as to set traps up tomorrow. I will have myself a rat come the end of this week."

_ Yes you will..._


	4. Chapter 4: A Bit of Snooping

John's headache lasted a few hours but eventually he decided some painkillers were in order. Mrs Hudson had remained upstairs and slept in Sherlock's bed, as she didn't want to traverse the stairs while tipsy and the detective barely slept anyways. After finding an asprin in his storage John broke off a piece and took it with water.

After the headache subsided he grabbed his gear that he hadn't bothered to put away, and borrowed some weekly supplies. He didn't have to be quite as careful, as Sherlock was up experimenting with something or other and Mrs Hudson was making him tea and biscuits. Speaking of tea...

John made his way over to the tin containing the herbs he wanted, and stashed some in his messenger-style bag. He had left his usual sack back in the wall, opting for the slightly more organizeable option. After the night before, all he wanted to do was sleep forever; however seeing as that was extremely impractical he tried to figure out when would be the best time to execute the second part of his plan. Mrs Hudson's schedule was easy enough to track, but that Holmes bean... He was a wild card to say the least.

When he was on a case he could be out of 221B anywhere from an hour or so to days. Of course, then Mrs Hudson would fret and be more likely to break from routine and stay home if the bean didn't come back by the next day. Somewhere a delicate balance was hiding, and John simply had to find it. When both beans schedules allowed, John would begin in earnest. For now though, he had a device to rig.

He returned to his cozy home with his 'groceries,' putting them away and turning to his calendar he had copied from the landlady. Well, Monday the 6th Mrs. Hudson would be out for her weekly game of bridge with Mrs Featherstone. Whether or not Sherlock would be around was yet to be seen.

For the time being though, he could get to building the gate to section off his part of the house and the contraption to knock out the brick. There was no going back now, he had already gone against one of the major rules of borrowing:

Never take something that might be missed.

And he had a hammer...

He wasn't going to keep it for long, but hopefully nobody would go looking for it before he could return the clunky tool. He would actually be needing it for a bit of battering, but after that he had no use for the thing. But that could wait til later. Now, he was more focused on a warm cuppa to relax him while no beans were around to smell the herbs.

He boiled some water, ruminating over last night. Sherlock had given no indication of seeing John until after the other bean left. That meant if John's plan were to be followed, he may be Seen without having any idea. John was much more nervous about his plan now, _Worrying over it won't help. Just do it and even if you are Seen, you can always leave._

John's last though left a sort of hollow sadness in his ribcage. He brushed the thoughts away and steeped his tea, trying to point his mind towards more useful things, like the measurements for the gate.

«~oO^Oo~»

A couple days later, John had practically everything set up. He had made a small hole in the brick by taking a hammer and tying it to a beam above. He'd pushed it back and forth, sort of like a swing, and let it chip away at one particular spot until it was large enough for a small rat to get through. He had kept it plugged up until it was actually needed though, no need to tempt fate... He was certain Sherlock would find it at some point during the disinfestation process and have it fixed: no harm done there.

He had also made a sort of barricade which would keep the rats and he separate. All he had to do was get the rats.

And check out 221B of course...

Well, he wasn't willing to stay with a bunch of rats. Who knew what could happen? He wouldn't be able to sleep! Not that his nightmares let him...

But they would only get worse if John's subconscious knew he was actually living with rats. As it was he would make a gasp at most upon waking, reliving the 'war' over and over again. Sometimes different from the actual occurrences, some dreams simply replaying what he'd seen with blood-curdling accuracy. Knowing rats could be nearby would send his dreams into a mad descent down the rat hole, John just knew it.

As long as he laid low, he would be able to move back downstairs within a month. Sherlock had swore on his name he'd be rid of the pests, and John had to hope he would hold to it. Besides, Sherlock was confident the pests would stay downstairs, as he never had much food around except what Mrs Hudson brought. Most of _that_ remained untouched anyway, and was either sent back down with the elderly bean, or promptly discarded. Unless of course, it was being used for mold growth studies...

Today was the time for it though. The perfect day to scout out his potential borrowing grounds. Sherlock had gone with a sample of something-or-other to Saint Bart's to see it with a more powerful microscope, giving John about an hour and a half or more. Mrs Hudson was having someone over for tea, so there would be no interruptions on her part. He'd need to practice managing the gate anyway, since it blocked off the only way to get upstairs through the walls. Brown rats liked to stay on the ground floors anyway...

John used his body weight against the pins that held the wire gate closed. They were a little too complex for rats to get open, but John had to try to figure out how to easily access the gate from either side. He figured he could just leave the openings to the clips on whatever side he was on to make it easier for him to get at.

He roughly judged where the flat actually began so he could look for ways in. An electrical socket plate was always a good option, but John hoped for other ways in, as he didn't need Sherlock happening to notice the screws were being regularly removed. _A paranoid Sherlock... I could see that._ He smiled at the thought of the detective frantically searching for cameras or other evidence of tampering in his home.

He made his way through the walls, getting familiar with the layout and following a thick cord with many wires hoping it would lead to a socket.

«~oO^Oo~»

While John was still living with his parents he'd made a friend; Rory Pantry. They'd become fantastic companions, though they practically lived on opposing sides of the house. They'd met while John had been learning to borrow; Mr. Watson had become sick, so he had contacted another borrower who was already teaching his son. John and the son had instantly got along, each finding the other a welcome change to their sisters.

Once John's father was better the families got together for dinner; Harry instantly getting along with the Pantry girls as well, leaving the boys to their devices.

John had taken Rory to his room, and was surprised to find that his new companion couldn't read. John had learned from his mother, but borrowers usually didn't bother learning to read much beyond the Borrowing Signs. Those were used to communicate where good borrowing houses were, whether the house had danger such as a cat, and so on. John however loved reading what he could and so decided he would teach Rory.

They kept their lessons to themselves, as some borrowers thought it ridiculous to read. If a borrower were to learn to read, they may become much less wary of beans; become _sympathetic_ with their ways. That's how John's maternal cousin had been Seen once, and it was sometimes frowned upon by those with traditional borrower outlooks. They started by running into the nursery, while an adult was borrowing and knew where they were obviously, and reading the extremely simple alphabet books, as per the advice of Mrs. Watson. They eventually graduated to the books with words yet quickly grew bored of the silly stories over and over. Thankfully Rory learned the simple words quickly enough.

By the time Rory could read without stuttering through certain words a whole year had passed. The two boys barely registered the time as they found many new things to read. Usually they just borrowed interesting things that were thrown away while their fathers were borrowing together so they could bring it home to read. Eventually though, they decided to do something new.

They found a book with a cover that looked interesting: a person who appeared to be of borrower size battling some type of thick snake with legs and wings. At first they had been terrified and though that someone had been Seen, so they took their fathers to the picture.

"Oh no, that giant lizard is a magical being; a dragon, and that is a knight." Mr. Pantry patiently explained the beast to the boys when their tongues would work.

"But why is the borrower in metal?" John's mind was blown away by the bright gleaming man, seemingly fighting the monster.

John's father approached behind him, laying one heavy hand on John's shoulder and pointing with the other. "That's not a borrower John, dragons are huge. That's a bean."

The boys were in awe that a creature of such magnitude could even exist, but the elders were fairly certain they weren't real. They discouraged the boys from more questions though, because, "Fairytales don't do a borrower any good. They won't help you escape beans detection, or tell you when a potato is too old to be worth borrowing. They're simply nonsense to pass a bean's time."

Of course, that only made the boys want to read the book.

They began sneaking out on their own in some evenings after supper, meeting in the wall above the bookshelf and trying to read the book. At first, they were very confused with many new words and even things they had never heard of. Damsels in distress? Princesses? Swords? They figured out many things, but if they were really stuck they would ask Mrs. Watson about it in private; she secretly encouraged the boys to read, and would tell them what she knew.

Eventually they finished the monstrosity; they hadn't been able to peel their eyes from the text for the past few chapters, and Rory was nearly caught out by his mother. For the next week or so, when nobody was around, they would find sticks for makeshift swords and fight, claiming their share of treasure. Once, the had even gone outside and had a pretend adventure, finding an low, abandoned squirrel hole in a tree and pretending it was a dragon's cave in a mountainside. Of course, there had been two princesses from different kingdoms so they could each reap the rewards of their conquest, but soon they itched for more.

They searched through the bookshelf again, looking for more information. They found Treasure Island, and for the next few months they were out sailing, searching for treasure and rum. This continued with every new book they read, and they would want more. More adventure, more twists, more adrenaline.

They had begun Peter Pan and were trying to imagine what sort of substitutes they could use for flying when it happened.

«~oO^Oo~»

John finally found what he thought might be a suitable entrance; the bathroom socket was hardly ever used so he doubted Sherlock would notice too much if he went out just this once. Thankfully Sherlock wasn't OCD about closing his doors, as John thought he might be. Sherlock often talked when nobody was around though, so he searched for any signs of pets. No hair, no noises yet... He was probably just talking to himself, but better safe then sorry. Or dead.

He scurried to the doorway and peeked out, just to be sure there were no other signs of life. To the left Sherlock's room was spotless; the floor vacuumed, the bedsheets crisp. Just as he suspected, a bit of a neat freak. Might not be good for borrowing then...

He was shocked when he turned the other way.

The kitchen looked like the lab of a mad scientist. _Well, not too far off..._ It seemed to be mostly confined to the center table, but papers, obviously the results and deductions of experiments, lay everywhere. _I thought Mrs. Hudson _cleaned_ this place all the time... _The table was covered with scientific equipment, ranging from chemicals and vials to- were those bean eyes?! Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

John walked to the table, and he was certain the horror showed easily in his face. Eyeballs. What on _earth_ could he be doing with those? No, John didn't want to know. He continued to the living room and was again greeted with an absolute disaster site. Books strewn everywhere, spray paint on one of the walls, more papers scattered across every surface, files, random things strewn here and there... Sherlock Holmes, _the_ Sherlock Holmes, owned a headset, and he left it on a longhorn skull. Of course he did... And a BEAN SKULL?

John's couldn't tear his eyes off the thing, marveling at its sheer size. His medical side was interested in the ivory grin, but his borrower side couldn't get away from the dark sockets... It was solid in his mind now: _never_ be Seen by Sherlock Holmes.

Seeing the state of the two main rooms gave John a glimpse of hope though. _If he's this messy, surely he won't notice me being here a month or so. I can do this no problem._

At this point, he was running out of time. He had no idea when the bean would be back. He catalogued all the bookshelves, side tables, fireplace, chairs and sofa... Didn't look like there were many borrowing holes in the living area though. Ah well, he'd think of something, or just stick to the few holes that were in place already.

He knew he had at least enough time to inspect the kitchen a bit more before getting worried about being caught, so he lightly jogged his way back.

«~oO^Oo~»

The boys had skittered out fairly late to see what on earth Peter was going to do to get off the rock after saving Wendy. They read on and on, and finally realized it was getting light out. They put back the clunky book and hurried back to their separate homes.

John quietly snuck back into his room and snuggled under his covers without a hitch. They had planned to go outside in the afternoon two days from then to rig a suspension device, and John couldn't wait to 'fly.'

When the time finally came though, John was surprised to see Mr. Pantry had come with Rory that day. John knew better than to ask Rory anything in front of him, so the boys meandered about ahead for a while, trying to put just a little distance between them all. Mr. Pantry was not so easily duped though, and kept fairly close. They already had rope and some other small things hidden away in the 'Dragon Cave,' and they needed to use it before some animal found it, or it blew away.

But suddenly, John had an idea. He shot a look at Rory, who obviously couldn't quite read it and he whispered under his breath instead.

"Lets pretend we were doing another more practical rig; get him to help."

Rory's eyes lit, and he faced forwards to smile in affirmation and awe of John's brilliance. John wondered how they were going to bring up the subject though... He figured they might as well sprinkle a bit of truth in so it was more believable.

The pair slowed ever so slightly by John's lead, so that they returned within easy earshot of the elder borrower. John wasn't quite sure how to start. "So Mr. Pantry, has Rory told you our plans and you've come to help?"

Mr. Pantry looked at his son with a stern eye. "No he hasn't, but he snuck out a couple of nights ago without an adult, so he's not allowed alone _at all_ for a while." There was an awkward silence for the boys. Of course, how had John not instantly known when Mr. Pantry first showed up? Now they would have Mr. Pantry following them closely for an indefinite amount of time. Fantastic.

"Well, we wanted to learn to make elevators, and we borrowed some of the stuff... We were going to ask my dad too, but since you're already here..."

Mr. Pantry stopped and pondered a moment, looking suspiciously between the two rascals. "So that's what you two have been doing. I hope you two know how badly it could go for all of us if you were in a dangerous situation and nobody knew where you were." The boys looked at each other a bit shocked; the gravity of what they had been doing had never quite hit then this hard before. Neither of them met Mr. Pantry's eye, as they continued to walk awkwardly. "Its fortunate nothing happened. For now though, I think you'll need an adult around for a while. Don't look at me like that, it's just for a while until we're sure you can take care of yourselves."

_Well, fantastic. Now we can't get back to the book for at least a week, and we can't really pretend either so we don't give ourselves away. What are we supposed to do?_ The three had begun trekking again, when Mr. Pantry broke the silence.

"Well, I didn't say that we _couldn't_ build that contraption..."

The boys' faces lit up as they looked from each other to Mr. Pantry. With renewed vigor, they made their way to the tree where they had hidden the supplies.

«~oO^Oo~»

John was busy snooping in the kitchen, keeping a nervous eye on the clock the entire time. There was only one borrowing hole out in the open, but John suspected there was another hidden _inside_ the cabinets, which would be perfect. He could look for those in the wall though, so he made his way back to the socket. He made sure he hadn't left any identifying footprints or the like, and screwed the socket most of the way in as he couldn't make the screws tight.

He had only brought his rope and file, so travelling was comparatively easier than normal. John wandered through the walls, trying to familiarize himself with them a little more. He found another hole, but it was rather high up. Tossing up his line and scrambling up, he found this hole led him to the mantle above the fireplace. He was rather impressed with whoever made this one, as he hadn't been able to spot it before, and he had been _looking_ for holes. He would probably never use this one though, so he let it be.

While John made his was back to the kitchen his borrower senses tingled slightly. Hearing brisk steps up the stairs, he figured it must be his detective. Since he was in the walls he knew he shouldn't worry, but he was still nervous. Eventually he did find a hole that lead to the cupboards, but he wasn't up for exploring much in the open while Sherlock was around, so he made his way back to the gate without incident.

When he got back home, Mrs. Hudson's friend was still there, and they were chatting in the kitchen, baking something or other as they spoke. The smells wafted to John and he smiled knowing everything had gone without a hitch. He got some jam and bread, but he couldn't toast it with Mrs Hudson there to smell the fire, so he settled with a peanut butter and jam sandwich.

_ Well, I didn't hear Sherlock snooping around when he got back. He must've not seen anything. Yeah, this could work quite well._

_**AN****:**_

Hey guys, for the month of February I'm going to be real busy with my real life attempt to take over the world... so unfortunately, don't expect anything until March. I normally put little updates on my profile page, but those days are over! I have a tumblr now for that specific purpose (and of course posting random other things that have nothing to do with my stories...)

Happy Valentine's day and all that jazz!

-JB


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